


The Morgue Around the Corner

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: “So you’re telling me that you have been flirting with this girl online for months and never met? You didn’t track her down, make sure she’s not some obese American bloke with halitosis?”





	The Morgue Around the Corner

“So you’re telling me that you have been flirting with this girl online for months and never met? You didn’t track her down, make sure she’s not some obese American bloke with halitosis?”

John looked sideways at Sherlock as they strode down the street. The Detective grunted affirmative.

“The mystery of it was intriguing. And I deduced from our chats that she is as she has portrayed herself to be.” Underneath his breath, he added. “Entirely lovely.”

Suddenly, John grabbed his sleeve, bringing him to stumbling stop, and jerked him around, staring into his eyes suspiciously.

“I am not high,” Sherlock stated and plucked his coat from John’s grip. “Is it so hard to believe that-”

“Yes.”

Sherlock glared at him and resumed walking, if a bit more angrily.

“Sorry, mate. I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t go in for love. Takes away from your mental process and all that rot.”

“For your information, she is a brilliant woman who has helped on several occasions to point me in the right direction on a case. Not necessarily my intellectual equal, though who is, but far above you.”

John harrumphed and wondered for the seventeenth time why he was accompanying Sherlock at all. Only his curiosity to see who had managed to capture the detective’s elusive heart kept him from abandoning the taller man.

“So, how are you going to recognize her?”

“She will be wearing a silver hair clasp in the shape of a bow.”

John screwed his face in mock surprise. “What, no rose on the table? Romantic novel?”

Sherlock stopped and gave him a deadly glare. “Amusing, as always.” He gestured toward the shoppe they stood in front of, set above the street level. The warm light inside invited them out of the cold and the smell of good coffee and scones made John’s mouth water. That is until Sherlock shoved him none-too-gently toward the door. “Now go. Surveil.”

“What?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I need to prepare myself and having all the available information beforehand will be advantageous. To avoid any uncomfortable deductions, you can tell me the superficial details about her, height, weight, hair color, etcetera, and I will prepare an introductory monologue complimenting her, thus avoiding my natural tendency to, as you say, stick my foot in it.”

He had a point. But John still felt foolish as he climbed the steps and tried his best to appear casual as he peered through the door. It was fairly crowded and nearly all the tables were full. 

“I don’t see her-wait, nope. Wait,” behind him, Sherlock mumbled something rather unflattering. John squinted and leaned closer. That…that couldn’t be. But there it was, the silver bow.

“Hey, Sherlock. Who’s that pathologist you’re always bickering with, the one at St Bart’s?”

Sherlock stared at him as if he’d gone off his rocker. “Hooper. What the devil are you bringing her up for, she’s a pain in the arse.” 

John glanced back into the coffee shop and breathed deep, keeping his delighted grin in check. “Well, if you don’t like Hooper, I can guarantee you’re not going to like this girl.”

Suspicious, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, a feeling of dread settling in his gut. “Why?”

“Because it  _is_  Hooper.”

Taking the steps two at a time, Sherlock pressed his face against the door.

Sitting at a lone table, her brown hair brushed until it shone, sat Molly Hooper. And clipped in her hair was a silver bow. She fiddled with her cup and looked around expectantly, her hand straying to the bow every few seconds. 

_Well. Damn._


End file.
